THE TIMMY TRIBULATION

If there’s one thing I hate almost as much as superheroes, it’s children.

Children are awful, parasitic scabs on the flesh of humanity, sent only to drain funds, distract, and dominate conversation. Surely you must have noticed that when someone has a child, it becomes the only thing they can talk about. All other topics of conversation become irrelevant.

It’s not like children are even interesting. When they are born they know nothing, do nothing, say nothing. They cry, they feed, they sleep. That’s it. Well, besides the constant cleaning and changing when the smells start.

They require constant attention. And everyone tells the parents not to wish this time away because it’s precious. Secretly all those parents are begging for the day they don’t have to do EVERY…SINGLE…THING for their offspring.

And one proud day they get their wish. Time has passed, and little Timmy is gurgling and learning, and he’s pulling and pointing and suddenly a word escapes his lips. His parents are so proud – look at little Timmy speaking! They call all their friends and tell them the good news. They make him do it again and upload it to Instagram. Hashtag Genius Baby.

Hashtag make me feel sick, more like.

But once the initial fun wears off, the cracks start to appear.

Because Little Timmy learned the word ‘why’.

“Good Morning Timmy,” they say.

“Why?” he replies.

“Eat your lunch!” they tell him.

“Why?” he retorts.

“Time for bed,” they plead.

“Why?”

Now, they realise their friends were right. Gone is their inarticulate bundle of joy, and in his place is a monster. A petulant toddler who wants to understand everything. He questions everything. Constantly curious, ever enquiring, infinitely interested.

They beg for a respite, but none is forthcoming. They offer him whatever he wants. Toys. Sweets. Sleep. Their bed! Anything that ends the droning repetition of the question: “Why?”.

There is nothing more irritating than an unwanted and inescapable Question, after all.

Is there, James?

A sullen youngster in a grown man’s body, you ask questions of everyone and everything around you. You think this makes you seem mysterious, even intelligent, but like Timmy you ask because you can’t comprehend what happens around you. Like Timmy you ask because you don’t know any other way.

But questions can only get you so far, Mr. Hunter, and I am getting sick of yours. So, let me offer you the ANSWER. Let me show you the SOLUTION to my quandary.

Here in my hand is the most powerful tool at my disposal…

…a pacifier.

This is for you James, to end your inquisition once and for all. For your superpower is simple: you wish to overpower me with questions. With this pacifier, that power is nullified. Your plan is placated. Your win is denied.

And as you sooth yourself, sucking on this pacifier for pleasure, there is one final solution to make sure your little team evacuates Double Tap without victory.

It involves my own little baby. But my baby is made of curved, sharp metal. My blade will see you to sleep now, baby James.